LOVE in my bosom like a bee

Now with his wings he plays with me,

Within mine eyes he makes his nest,

His bed amidst my tender breast:

My kisses are his daily feast,

And yet he robs me of my rest.

And if I sleep, then percheth he

And makes his pillow of my knee

Strike I my lute, he tunes the string,

He music plays if so I sing,

He lends me every lovely thing:

Yet cruel he my heart doth sting:

Else I with roses every day

And bind you, when you long to play,

I’ll shut mine eyes to keep you in,

I’ll make you fast it for your sin,

I’ll count your power not worth a pin;

Alas, what hereby shall I win,

What if I beat the wanton boy

He will repay me with annoy,

Then sit thou safely on my knee,

And let thy bower my bosom be;

Lurk in my eyes I like of thee:

O, Cupid so thou pity me,